Emergence 2.10b
ooo
After Armsmaster's question, you start to respond in the affirmative. However it occurs to you that no, you aren't nearly set to proceed. Shaking your head, you hold up a hand and bolt for the stairs, calling down at the heroes, "Hang on! I need to get the paperwork for the school transfer! And...well, other stuff!" Scrambling and scrabbling your way up the steps you barrel into your room to start dismantling your dresser and desk in order to begin collecting the necessary documents.
You set one partition of your mind to cataloguing the necessities, even as you feel the mild fuzz of weariness from your interrupted sleep beginning to bleed off the edge of your mind. You decide to look into that more later. Checking that the windows are shut and the blinds are drawn, you send your mind-tendrils out teasing their way through stacks of paperwork, sifting through the detritus of years even as you shout down to your Dad, "Can you get those for me?"
He calls up in the affirmative, and before long you can hear his steps on the stairs then heading back to his room. Collecting the remnants of what documentation you needed from your room, you rush down the steps and into the armored chestplate of the local Protectorate leader. You start to ease past him, trailing a tendril-towed tornado of documentation which is laid in perfect order and organization on the table's edge by the lashing limbs of light. You stop a moment, goggling at the hero, unable to help the question that comes to mind: "Wh-why the hell did you do
that when you were putting this together? It...what the he-how does that even work?!" You blink, turning bemusedly to Miss Militia. "Are all Tinker methods as bullshit as his? I...isn't science supposed to be able to be duplicated? I...I'm pretty sure you could repeat every step he did in making that, and it
just wouldn't work right. Even though you did
the exact same things." You scowl furiously up at Armsmaster, daring him to explain why his armor is in defiance of the very principles of science and the scientific method itself.
"Maybe if I tried disassembling a gauntlet I could doublecheck that," your mind-hands move to try to grasp one of Armsmaster's armored gloves, only to stop as your father's hand comes down firmly but gently on your shoulder. You blink, looking between the ashen-faced Armsmaster and your father's amused expression.
"Taylor, don't terrorize the poor hero. He clearly doesn't want you disassembling his gear."
ooo
ooo
The preparations take another ten-to-fifteen minutes beyond that, with your father making a call to inform Brandish of everything going on, and--after a brief segue to a discussion between the lawyer and Armsmaster which he clearly in no way enjoyed--a final discussion was held and what sounded like a more formal agreement was drawn up from the half of the conversation you could hear. If your reading up on the law was leading you rightly. That accomplished, the four of you made your way to one of the PRT's ubiquitous, nondescript panel vans, the same one Miss Militia must have arrived in, now that you think about it. Loading in, you sit down by a window and, giving your dad's arm a squeeze of reassurance and nerves and excitement all at once, you watch out the window as your house, it's little garden, and then your whole street and neighborhood roll past.
You can't help but feel a lightness and an excitement suffuse your limbs, swelling your heart, leaving you just shy of dancing in your seat as you watch the landscape roll by the window before you. You hadn't been entirely sure if Armsmaster was being genuine when he asked you to forgive him for what had happened with your Dad, but the fact that he'd come here to apologize to you, even so far as to bring you and your Dad out to the local headquarters to make that apology a public one, well, it said volumes about his earnesty. You still weren't entirely sure why you were being taken out to the Protectorate Rig instead of the Downtown PRT building. Still almost floating from the excitement of the meeting--Miss Militia was so nice!--you started to consider why that was before the van turned to pull down an apparently empty jetty, save for the security station your van passed through and a stretch of roadway which abruptly terminated at the jetty's end. That was odd.
<Taylor, I've been thinking, and I think there's something more going on here than just what w-,> Uncertainty cut off abruptly as, with an immense
thrum, a long, gently inclined section of what had to be the same thing as the shimmering forcefield which gave the floating Protectorate base its nigh unassailable status suddenly came into being between the end of the jetty and the base. You had seen it once or twice before, even from up close when you and, a pang hits you at the thought, Emma had gone on a tour, your mothers accompanying you both through the official tour and taking you to the gift shop. You remembered that trip. It had had been a good one. You'd gotten an Alexandria lunchbox and...clothes, yes that fit, with Armsmaster's logo on them. You but your lip at the pang of ache that memory brought now. Things had been so much better then. The wold had seemed so bright and full of hope.
Feeling your dad's arm on your shoulder, you turn your head to face him and give him a tight smile.
"You okay, kiddo?" His brows are drawn down in concern over his large eyes and worry creases his expression.
Blinking, you realize you'd been tearing up. "Y-yeah, Dad. I'll," you take a moment to wipe your eyes and give him a smile, "I'll be fine. Just remembering the last time I was here. With Mom and," your sigh speaks volumes, "you know."
"Oh." He manages a similar eloquence of the monosyllabic response, pulling you into the best half-hug the van's seatbelts will allow. After a moment, he lets go and looks past you out the window. "It sure is something. She always thought so. Used to say it was something straight out of mythology. A rainbow bridge from the Earth up to a hall of marvel and wonders. She never was quite comfortable with the part where heroes were gods in that particular allusion." He gave you a small hug again. "Of course she's always lighten the mood by saying at least it was the Norse gods instead of Greek ones. At least they fought alongside mankind against the monsters." He smiled fondly, a little laugh escaping his lips. "You know, she never did forgive the Empire for that." At that, Miss Militia looked over with curiosity. Dad's cheeks flushed at the attention. "Norse myth. She would go on such tears about how awful it was that an entire mythology, just dripping with symbolism, meaning, and the wisdom of entire cultures, had been forever attainted in the public eye because some shortsighted, racist monster had decided he liked the way it fit his personal self-aggrandizement." He shrugged. "Of all the villains in the Bay, I think she held Allfather in the worst contempt, while he was alive. And by the time Kaiser took over, well, the damage was already done." He smiled bittersweetly, his mind traveling back to her passion and her fire.
You were saved the need to respond by the sudden jolt of the van's tires transferring from the perfectly smooth surface of the forcefield to concrete. Feeling the resumption of the gentle shaking you hadn't even noticed had disappeared, you looked up from remembrances of your own to see you were in a parking garage if some sort, your van coming to a stop alongside dozens just like it.
Hopping out of the doors once they were opened for you, you and your father followed Miss Militia to an elevator, where Brandish waited in a smart business suit, briefcase held at her side. She bore a visitor's name tag on her coat's lapel, and as you reached her, she held her hand out for first you and then your father to shake.
Waiting to the side while you greeted your lawyer, Miss Militia stepped up once that was done and gestured for the three of you to join her in the elevator, indicating that the pair of PRT troopers who had accompanied Brandish thus far were relieved of that duty.
Giving a terse nod first to you and then to Brandish, Armsmaster joined you all in the elevator, pressing a button for your destination. "If you would all follow me, we have a conference room prepared for this."
Brandish starts to interject, but Armsmaster holds up a forestalling hand. "Please, just bear with me a moment until we're there. It will be easier not to have to repeat this."
Though she's clearly unhappy at the attempt to override her comment, Brandish looks to your father then to you for input before proceeding. On receiving your father's concerned shrug and your thoughtful nod, she inclines her own head. "Very well, but keep in mind I will be keeping an eye out for any untoward behavior toward my client."
Armsmaster gives her a short nod, then gestures to an open door before him. Inside, a large conference room is organized around a sturdy table. On it, three identical sets of documentation sit, one for each of you, your father, and Mrs. Dallon. At the head of the table, facing you all, a heavy-set woman in a navy suit and skirt whose blonde bob-cut and composed, serious face do wonders to set up the no-nonsense impression her steely grey eyes hammer home like a pair of bright, shining new nails. As the door shuts behind you all, she reaches out and activates a device set on the center of the table, filling the room with a barely-perceptible humming.
"I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm here instead of meeting you at the PRT HQ downtown. I assure you all of your questions will be answered, but first I need you to review and sign these Non-disclosure agreements. We generally, and I myself individually, owe you an apology Miss Hebert, Mister Hebert. However,what we discuss next must not leave this room until or unless such a time as you are authorized by me for it to do so." Folding her arms behind her back in a military at-rest stance, Director Piggot of the PRT ENE gave every indication of being able and willing to wait all day on the documents if that was what it took.
ooo
+1 xp
